


Maybe

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-21
Updated: 2002-10-21
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11139393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: It's late, it's dark, Ben's asleep. Ray's thinking.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Maybe

## Maybe

by LaAmelia

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, you *know* that. Why must you opintlessly hound me for disclaimers. It's not stealing, it's *borrowing*. I promise to return the boys in perfect condition. Not a scratch or a trace of chocolate sauce anywhere on them, honest. (my most innocent smile)

Author's Notes: It's a vaguely pointless ramble about my two favourite characters in the whole wide world. I'm tired and caffeine deprived, this is what you must come to expect at such moments. I apologise in advance.

Story Notes: I'm a person, I'm not a mindless piece of machinery, I have a soul. The blessed Feedback is good for my soul. You keep talkin', I keep supplyin'.   
My love is an unlimited resource - if you want your own little piece of my undying affection you know what to do.

* * *

Okay So I'm laying here thinking maybe this is the shit-scariest place to be in the world. My heart's going eighty five thousand beats a minute and I'm tense through every muscle I've got. Normally right about now the tension's melted into oblivion but this right here .... It's _Fraser_. Holy mother of God what have I done?  
Okay, _calm, calm, calm_ my mantra just raises me into another state of higher panic so I stop repeating it and let my thoughts wander. It's a little dark in the room but from the streetlight outside I can see Fraser. He's curled on his side right here next to me, sleeping peacefully like I should be doing. I'm sure as hell spent enough ... But I can't seem to make the panic ebb. You ever do something that was sooooo incredibly wrong. In every single way that you could imagine. Only you were still doing it. So the fucked up hedonist part of your brain decides that it feels good so you should keep doing it. And since you're still doing it.... Then it must be the right thing to do. Otherwise you'd stop, right? But you haven't stopped so this must be a good thing. Even though you _know_ it's so incredibly bad. Thing is, all the while I was letting myself fall in love with the big dumb Canuck, I knew I was gonna regret it. But at the same time I didn't stop myself. Didn't spend any less time with him. Didn't transfer my ass the hell away from him. So I guess I'm a hedonist _and_ a masochist. This just gets better doesn't it? 

So I'm watching him sleep, sappy but oddly quieting in its own sort of way. Like if he's not panicking then why should I be? And I watch him smile in that happy way, blissfully unaware of the fact I'm heading towards cardiac arrest, and don't I just feel like the most bastardly bastard this side of anywhere. I've made him all happy and smiling and content and, yes, that makes me feel terrible. Why? Because I'm starting to get all these horrible great monster-shaped doubts and I know if he knew that it'd wipe that happiness right of his pretty Mountie soul and burn it. That right there is the single most frightening thought I've ever had. God, what if I make him unhappy? Did that one time before - punched him - pulled it a bit so it wouldn't really hurt but it hurt in all the wrong ways. Got tears in his eyes and I nearly broke all laws of physics just so I could kick myself in the head. Didn't though. And we worked through it, we really did. I'd known it wouldn't leave a physical scar but I thought maybe he'd have one inside. But he didn't and I nearly died of relief when I knew that. It had scared me a lot to hurt him so, and the feelin' I got right now isn't a lot different. Only now it's eighty times scarier because I know that if I fuck this up it will leave scars. Big ugly ones that never fade. So I better not fuck this up, huh? 

I notice for the first time that my skin's all warm, warmer than I think its ever been. Hadn't realized till he got close just how skin-cold I really was. Skin-cold, and heart-sore. For maybe a couple hours that feeling went away and as I stop panicking for a second and pay attention I realize it hasn't come back. I'm not sore any more. Maybe that's what's scaring me - not that it feels wrong but it feels right. It's unfamiliar ... but I'm not going to turn my back on this good feeling just because I'm not used to it. That would be D.U.M - dumb. Ben's hand is resting on the pillow, his fingers splayed out. Open. How bizarre that suddenly he's the open one and I'm the one curled up so tight I'm almost turning in on myself. I rub at his knuckles and his fingers flex around mine, sleepily drawing my fingers to his mouth so he can kiss them. His soft grey-coloured eyes flicker open for one heart-stopping moment and then he slides back into the abyss. Thank God. Some child-like, frightened bit of me knows I'm not ready to speak yet. To live again yet. This little bit of time where I don't have to live, or do anything but exist, it gives me time to make some sense of the mess in my head. A .... ($10 word coming up) ... cacophony of voices telling me a million different useless things such as `run' and `kiss him' and `sleep' and `drink some coffee' , when I know full well I can do none of these things. Okay perhaps I can do the kiss part, and I do. I lay a little, chaste kiss on his gently curved mouth and when his face tilts unconsciously up to mine I smile too. It seems oddly significant that in the midst of all my confusion, this is the one thing that feels perfectly sane to me. He always was my gravity. I think I'm his lack thereof. It's good - we balance, in every way I can think of. I think back to when I first started falling in love with him, annoying though he was. I thought at the time maybe it didn't really matter that it was him. I was just lonely and I would have fallen for anyone who got close enough. I worked out a little while later that I was just in denial. He wasn't just anybody to me - he was the most fascinating, contrary, obstinate, infuriating, sexy, intelligent, gentle, dangerous, beautiful _beautiful_ man. No-one else would ever discover his unique way of getting under my skin, and no-one else would ever be able to compare to him. So I kissed him. Didn't kiss his lips, maybe I was afraid of getting bitten or something. He always did have this kind of wild side that worried me a bit when it appeared from under layers of Mountie. So, instead, I kissed his neck. The soft space below his ear. I kissed a line along his jaw, kinda wondering how come his skin was so soft and smooth. And he went all sort of still. And I stopped and I pulled back a bit, and he said, in that pretty, soft voice of his, "What are you doing, Ray." And I almost laughed out loud. But I didn't. I stayed all serious and I looked into his face and I told him the first thing that entered my dumb blonde head. Wait for it .... "I'm fallin' in love with you Ben." Then, just as I'm congratulating myself on the sheer volume of my stupidity, he blinks a couple times and then he kissed me back. Only, he's not afraid - why should he be? - so he does it properly, his tongue makin' little swipes across my lower lip `til I make the difficult choice between dying of shock and opening up to let him in. I open up, and that's where the memory starts to get real unclear. Only now it's coming back in snapshots and blurry slideshows, and holy _God_ I hope none of those memories ever go away again. 

I shake myself and realise with a grin that I'm not all that scared anymore. Okay so maybe still a little freaked. My body's still kind of tense but instead of bad tension it feels like living. Like .... What's the word I need? It's .... It's like anticipation. Yeh, that's it. Blissfully on edge. I turn over on my other side and shuffle back into his welcoming arms so he's sort of spooned behind me and my God I don't think anything's ever felt so relaxed and warm and safe and all those `home' sort of things. Funny how appropriate the word home sounds in my head when I associate it with Fraser. Ben. Got to start calling him Ben. Anyway, I'm lying here all comfortable and secure-like, and I'm thinking that, if and when tomorrow decides to show its face, I might just be able to cope with the implications of what I just did. What Ben and me just did. He's a `forever' sort of person and that suits me just fine. I am too. So maybe tomorrow it'll be awkward, maybe it won't. It's our days off so we'd planned to be together anyway. In a `friends' type way. Maybe we're a lot more than that now. Maybe we'll talk, maybe we won't know what to say. Maybe we won't need to talk, maybe we won't get the chance. Maybe we'll end up with a repeat performance, maybe we won't. Maybe we'll make it - no, that one's not a maybe. We'll make it. I'm pretty damn stubborn and the Mountie's got me beat on that score. I'm too stubborn to let this go, and I know for sure he will be too. Since when did he learn to let anything go? I pray he won't start with this. As if he reads my thoughts, which sometimes I think he does, he pulls me closer, nestling his face against my neck so whenever he breathes out a faint cloud of warmth hits my skin and sends shivers through every part of me that's not already gone to sleep. While I'm praying, I figure I may as well give a bit of a thankyou. After all, it's not everyone who gets this kind of beautiful person pushed into their life right when they don't expect it. Even fewer get to tell the person they love them and have the feeling returned so unwaveringly. He never said it but I knew it was true. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't a good bit in love with me. I know him that well - he wouldn't risk our friendship that way. I push back a little into him and he tightens his arms around me. His legs are crossed over mine and I think we're about as close as we can get without sharing the same airspace. Good. When we wake up I want to be holding him, reassuring him in case he's afraid like I've been. In case he doubts how much I _don't_ regret last night. I want to be there telling him with my body that I want to stay like this forever, with him, beside him, in him, around him, loving him, understanding him, knowing him, protecting him, adoring him, forgiving him, and all those other things I never got from anyone else, that I've gotten from him, in so short a time that I'm half convinced I've dreamed it all. It's a few hours, a few weeks maybe before I sleep. The last thing I remember before I submit to the darkness is to tell him I love. Which I do, although I doubt it's coherent and I doubt he's listening anyway. Doesn't matter. I've said it, I've meant it, and whatever comes in the morning we'll face it together. 

* * *

End Maybe by LaAmelia:

Author and story notes above.


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